


Flyboy

by Elenothar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Poe Needs A Hug, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe has always had a painting of wings on his back. When he meets Finn and Rey, they begin to grow.</p><p>Or: Poe isn't dealing very well with this new development, Finn and Rey are sensible and supportive, Luke isn't any help at all, and Leia just wants these strange things to stop happening on her base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flyboy

**Author's Note:**

> Because apparently I just can't help myself when there're prompts for wingfic. The original idea comes form [this](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=1700401#cmt1700401) kinkmeme prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Poe has wings. They've always been tiny, small enough to fold away and hide under his shirt, but never big enough to fly on. Hence, you know, the pilot thing. Only, when he falls in love with Finn, they start to grow._
> 
>  
> 
> Though I managed to deviate quite lot, all things considered. Mostly I just want art of winged!Poe.
> 
> Huge thanks to norcumi for the usual encouragement!

 

*

As long as he can remember Poe has always had wings etched into his skin. Gleaming feathers of midnight blue curl their way down from his shoulder blades to his hips, reminiscent of a particularly realistic tattoo. Here and there they’re dotted with golden specks like stars and Poe has always liked those bits best, the way they catch the light and gleam merrily. When he was younger he used to spend hours in front of the mirror, craning his neck to look at his back, mesmerized with the play of colours when muscle and bone shift underneath his skin.

It doesn’t hurt any less when he jumps from the tree in their backyard, convinced that the wind would catch him and carry him to the sky, but the brief moment of weightlessness is enough to never make him regret it, even in the face of a broken wrist and his parents’ worried admonishments. Perhaps, he thinks later, he was always meant to fly. Still, he wouldn’t say he becomes a pilot because of a picture on his back because he knows flying is as much a part of him as his mother’s smile and his father’s eyes. The sky has always called to him, a tug deep beneath his breastbone he’d been helpless to resist.

He still remembers his mother telling stories about the winged. _You’re blessed, my darling_ , she used to say quietly whenever he asked after their origins. _One day you will understand, I promise_. He believed her then, with the all-encompassing naivety of childhood. That was before. Before she broke the most important of her promises and all other promises turned to ash in his mouth. Now years and years have passed and still he doesn’t know, and when people ask he only shrugs and says _a youthful indiscretion_ and smiles as if that isn’t he biggest lie he’s ever told.

-

Then he is captured by the First Order – stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , he should’ve just run, for all the good shooting at Kylo Ren did him – and everything changes.

The first time he sees Finn’s face – wide eyes and sweat and trooper helmet in his hands – a shiver goes down his back that has nothing to do with the blood trickling down his face or the spasms of overtired, strained muscles. There is little time to think of it then because Poe likes being alive and it’s taking all his focus to stay that way. In the cockpit of a ship, _any_ ship, he feels at home, burning shoulders pressed against the smooth pilot seat of their stolen TIE fighter and they’re flying until they’re falling and everything goes dark.

Poe keeps shivering, even in the burning Jakku heat, stumbling across sand and sand and more sand with no way out. He supposes it should come as no surprise after his mind was ripped open like an overripe fruit, darkness leeching into his thoughts, taking and _taking_ until he feared there was nothing left. Without Finn there wouldn’t have been, and now Finn is dead and it’s all he can do to choke back a scream.

For a moment, his back _burns_.

He comes back to D’Qar, to his squad and to the Black One, to the General who looks into his eyes and sees _everything_ and sends him out again anyway because she must and because she knows how much he needs to go. He comes back and he misses BB-8 and he misses Finn, misses the feeling of freedom that Kylo Ren had torn from his mind. An itch has settled between his shoulder blades, one that only disappears when he’s flying through the air in his X-Wing, first on Takodana, then at Starkiller Base.

Then he meets Rey. Meeting Rey feels like a blossom of heat, like that moment of weightlessness when he executes a perfect flight manoeuvre, whilst Finn is the steady ground beneath his feet that always welcomes him back from space.

Poe doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

-

The medical bay is quiet around them, just like the man they’re both here to see. It’s not the best first meeting he could’ve imagined, but Rey is here and Poe is here and so, in body, is Finn, a breathing, _hurt_ link between them.

“He’ll be all right,” he murmurs, gaze trained on Finn’s immobile form, not looking at Rey.

There’s startlement in her deep eyes when her head comes up. “How do you know?”

Poe shrugs, half of a smile on his lips. “I just do. He’s a fighter, is Finn.”

“You named him.” Her eyes bore into his, and he finds that he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. It’s almost a sizzling energy, her intense regard, and he thinks he can see the Jedi she will be lurking just beneath her skin.

He nods. “Everybody deserves a name.”

Suddenly she smiles, a sweeter expression than he expected. “Finn was right about you.”

“Hmm?”

“You are a good man, Poe Dameron.”

Poe can _feel_ himself blushing, too pleased to be truly embarrassed and her smile widens. He draws in a startled breath when she reaches out a hand, slowly, as if she thinks he would refuse her – as if he _could_ refuse her this – until her fingers brush over his shoulder. He keeps absolutely still, instinctively realising that any sudden movements would ruin this fragile thing they’re building between them. Even as the tingles down his spine become more and more insistent, she suddenly smiles and there’s such sweetness in the expression that it takes his breath away. Helpless not to, he smiles back and tries not to feel too bereft when her hand falls away again.

When she leaves two days later, Rey doesn’t tell him to look after Finn. She already knows he will.

-

For the first time in his life Poe is anything but determined and enthusiastic when he’s assigned a mission. It’s not that his belief in the Resistance has waned, or he has forgotten his duty, but of late his mind strays easily – to Finn, still unconscious in medical, and Rey, off on her quest to find the last of the Jedi. He finds that he wants, more than is perhaps normal or healthy, to be there when Rey returns and Finn wakes up.

Leia is looking at him with sympathy in her eyes when he accepts the assignment. She knows as well as he does that Poe would never shirk his duty to the Resistance, no matter his personal feelings. Reciprocally, Poe knows that she wouldn’t send him if he wasn’t needed. He _is_ their best pilot after all, and one of the few with any spy training, and he’s never going to regret his skills because at the very least they make him useful.

“We need more detailed intel on these possibly base locations,” she tells him quietly on the way out. “You know what to look for.”

They’re all painfully aware that staying on D’Qar much longer is not only risky but downright foolhardy now that the First Order knows the position of their base. He nods at her, understanding passing between them, unsaid.

Seven hours later he sits in his beloved Black One, blasting away from D’Qar with BB-8 cheerfully chattering at him from its position in the astromech port. His back prickles almost mournfully, and for a moment he’s acutely aware of every mile that now lies between him and the base, but he wrenches his mind back to the task at hand. A distracted pilot is a dead pilot, and Poe has no intention of turning into stardust just yet.

His comlink toggles, and Jess’ voice fills the cockpit. “You all right there, Black Leader? You didn’t execute even a single fancy manoeuvre on the way out.”

As if to demonstrate her point, Jess barrel rolls along his flank, the equivalent of a jaunty wave in an X-Wing.

Poe sighs. Jess is a great wingmate to have watching your back and also happens to be one of his best friends, but the downside of that is that she gets far too nosey basically _all the time_. “I’m fine, Blue Three. Let’s just get this done and get home, yeah?”

“Roger that,” she says and he can hear the grin in her voice. “We’ll get you back to your boy in no time.”

An automatic protest is already on the tip of his tongue, but really it would be a wasted effort. Jess knows him far too well and will believe whatever the hell she wants anyway, no matter what he says.

A week – and a lot of time crammed into a tight cockpit – later, they’ve surveyed the three systems that had made the short list compiled after the first wave of reconnaissance flights. Thank the Force this trip had also included ground excursions to map key locations, or even Poe might’ve started feeling claustrophobic.

There’s relief in his heart when they start their descend to D’Qar and Poe radios in to ground control.

“This is Black Leader and Blue Three, making our landing in three.”

Proceedings are always professional at the Resistance base, but one side-effect of everybody knowing everybody else is that Poe can tell Hiad is glad to hear from then when he responds, “Acknowledged, Black Leader. You’re cleared for Bay 7.”

Poe switches to their private frequency for a moment. “Good flight, Jess.”

“Right back at you, flyboy,” she replies, her X-Wing tight on his tail in textbook formation that she usually doesn’t bother with. “We didn’t even nearly die once.”

“How unprecedented,” he says dryly. “Let’s hope it becomes a tradition.”

Jess’ snort is especially loud over his headset. “Dream on, Dameron. This _is_ you we’re talking about.”

Yeah, all right, that’s kinda fair enough. Fortunately the imminent landing gives him an excuse not to come up with a retort. Switching off the comline, Poe sets down the Black One in its assigned berth, gentle as a leaf fluttering to the ground and allows himself a long exhale that drains some of the tension from his shoulders.

The starfighter’s canopy pops open, and Poe doesn’t know what he expected, but it’s not to be greeted by Finn and Rey, both of them grinning wide enough to illuminate their own solar systems. They’re also holding hands, and Poe doesn’t really understand the feeling of electricity running through him at the sight, tingling down his back in waves. Jealousy he could’ve coped with, but they just look so _right_ together. Right and happy.

As soon as his feet touch the ground – BB-8 beeping at one of the techs to get it out quicker – Finn’s arms are around him, a mirror to the last time they’d stood on this very tarmac with relief in their eyes and joy on their lips. But this time Rey isn’t far behind Finn and she hugs him too, briefly, yet it’s more contact than he’s ever seen her grant anyone but Finn and he relaxes into it completely. Though that may also be because he’s a bit unsteady on his feet after so many hours in the cockpit.

“Finn, buddy, you’re awake! And, Rey, you’re back!” It’s not the most coherent (or smooth) he’s ever been, and he doesn’t take offense when they giggle at him. It’s kind of cute anyway, which just goes to show that he’s already completely _gone_ over these two.

“How’s the back?”

Finn looks to be standing all right on his own and Rey doesn’t look worried, but Poe feels justified in asking because the last time he’d seen Finn his buddy had literally been in a coma. So, worry.

“Bacta is _amazing_ ,” Finn says, and watching him walk with a limp to his step Poe can only agree.

“You’re still going to physiotherapy,” Rey points out because apparently she’s going to be the grown-up, mature one in their triad.

Finn isn’t bothered. “Not for long, and Doctor Kalonia says I’m making great progress.”

“Of course you are,” Poe says, feeling nothing but fond. “Stubbornness is a universal Resistance member trait after all.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, suddenly quieter, more serious. “I am part of the Resistance now, aren’t I?”

Poe nods at him, grasps his shoulder firmly. “Yes you are, buddy. Now we just have to convince Rey to join up too.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “As if you two would give me a choice.”

Poe knows it’s a joke, but he can’t stop himself from frowning anyway. “There’s always a choice. You know that, right? If you wanted to leave and try your chances elsewhere, no one would stop you.”

And perhaps Rey sees some of the fears lodged deep in his chest, for she doesn’t laugh him off, only quietly says, “I know. But I _want_ to be here. And anyway, Master Luke is here.”

In all the excitement Poe had entirely forgotten about that. “Luke Skywalker is here?” he squeaks and even forgets to be embarrassed when they both look at him with identical indulgent expressions.

“Yeah, numpty,” Finn says. “He came back with Rey, of course.”

Poe doesn’t miss the quietly grateful look that passes over her face at that, at the simple implication that everyone would follow Rey to wherever she wished to go without hesitation. Then some ground crew hustles past and the moment is lost.

“Anyway,” Rey says, visibly pulling herself together. “We have a surprise for you.”

Poe’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “A surprise? But I need to debrief.”

“The General has given us leave to abscond with you for the evening,” Finn explains smugly. “She said a few hours more wouldn’t make a difference.”

Before Poe can voice an objection because he knows only too well just how big a difference ‘a few hours’ can, in fact, make, his hands are gripped by Finn’s larger and Rey’s smaller fingers. Giving in to the inevitable, Poe makes certain to spot Jess before getting dragged off, needing to see that she’s all right and giving her the pilot salute. Predictably, instead of returning the gesture she just makes shooing motions, a shit-eating grin on her face.

Dinner with Finn and Rey is… something else. On the flight back Poe was _expecting_ to eat with his fellow pilots in the mess hall as usual, but instead he finds himself towed forcefully back to his own room, where Finn and Rey have amassed a pile of food. Both of them are grinning like it’s someone’s life day, and if he were completely honest with himself Poe probably hasn’t even _had_ a life day this nice for years. What boggles his mind even more is that they’ve apparently decided that they want to spend time just with him, draw him away from the busy duties of a Resistance pilot and (Rey’s words) make sure he relaxes for once because she can feel his tense muscles from meters away.

It’s all almost unbearably nice, and Poe finds himself wishing that he weren’t quite so tired so that he could listen more to their young, excited voices as they tell him what he’s missed in the week he’s been away. Instead he feels himself drifting, warm and comfortable on his bed, sandwiched between Finn and Rey. Even his back has finally stopped itching.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep (though it must’ve been somewhere in Rey’s tale of life on Jakku), but for the first time since Kylo Ren he doesn’t dream.

-

Poe rises early the next morning to finally attend the debrief, feeling more rested than he has in weeks. Command keeps him busy the whole day, and both Finn and Rey are off doing their own thing so he returns to his quarters alone after dinner, feeling slightly disappointed but knowing that he could do with the rest and quiet. He settles down in his bunk with the results from the training runs Snap had conducted in his absence and begins reading.

By the time Poe realises something is seriously wrong, it’s too late to get himself down to the medbay. BB-8 is off somewhere on a nightly jaunt – possibly bothering C-3PO because Beebee finds it funny how easy the protocol droid is to fluster – and there’s no one to call for help.

One moment he’s preparing for bed, feeling unaccountably tired and worn for all that his mind still overflows with the memory of Finn’s laughs and Rey’s quiet smiles, the next he chokes on a scream. His back feels like it’s on literal _fire_. For a wild moment he thinks _Kylo Ren_ , sees that black mask in front of his eyes, feels pain rip through his mind, because all this started then didn’t it. Then the pain subsides a little, and he almost laughs at his own foolishness – he’s on D’Qar, far away from Ren and the gleaming, dark cells on the Finalizer. He’s safe and among friends, but his back is still burning , all along the painting he doesn’t need to see to hold in his mind’s eye. His shirt ends up in a heap on the floor as he curls in on himself, keeping feverish skin away from material that suddenly feels coarse and scratchy. Another wave of pain washes over him, even more intense than the first, and between one breath and the next he is gone.

-

When Poe claws himself back to consciousness, the first rays of sunlight are shining through the small window and everything feels strange, off-balance and it takes a moment for him to remember the events of the night before. His eyes fly open, are met with midnight blue and he falls off the bed with a strangled yelp, tangled in more limbs than should be possible.

The floor is cold against his skin, still echoing with remnants of feverish heat, and Poe takes a moment just to lie still and get his stunned brain to work again. Hopefully. On the other hand, even a working brain can’t really explain why there are suddenly two huge, big, gigantic _wings_ on his back. Or what he should do now because this is definitely a Problem. Maybe he should start by getting up, that would count as progress, right?

Turns out even standing is a struggle when you’ve suddenly got more limbs than is sensible for human beings. The first time Poe tries it, he immediately overbalances because there’s weight on his back that shouldn’t be there. Back on the floor, lying half on one wing as the other stands up like some kind of demented standard, he looks at the ceiling and wonders whether the galaxy is ever going to go back to being _sane_.

If he were in even a slightly more rational state of mind he could maybe have admired the beauty of his new appendages. Like the painting on his back, the feathers shimmer in a dark midnight blue with flecks of gold dotted across the wings. The feathers are like silk to the touch, smooth and soft and streamlined.

It takes him two whole hours to get the hang of first standing and then walking without looking like he’s so drunk his balance is all shot to hell. They help a little, these small successes because they’re something he can focus on without getting distracted by the emotional maelstrom that awaits when he actually has to think about what the hell he’s going to do now that he’s got kriffing wings. Can he even fit in his X-Wing like this? Can he still _fly_? His mind shies away from the mere thought like a skittish new-born chick. He knows he’s missed two early morning meetings already and is well on his way to being late to the flight training session he’s supposed to lead before lunch, but he can’t bring himself to leave the relative safety of his room.

Loud knocking on his door interrupts his quiet misery.

“Poe, open up! We need to be out on the tarmac in two!”

Of course it’s Jess.

“Fuck off, Pava! I don’t feel well,” he bellows back, because he doesn’t know what to do but he _does_ know that he can’t face opening the door right now.

Predictably, this doesn’t work.

“What’s wrong with you, Poe? You never miss meetings. Hell, you once went to a debriefing while actively _bleeding out_.”

If anything Jess sounds even more concerned now, and a concerned Jess is as stubborn as the best of them.

“ _Please_ , Jess, just leave. I’m fine.” Poe knows he sounds desperate and can’t even bring himself to care.

Jess is silent for a moment, then she says, “Fine. But if you don’t show your face before evening meal I’ll come back and _drag_ you.”

Only when he’s heard her footsteps retreat back down the hallways, does he let himself collapse against the wall – except that he forgot about the wings and one of them gets caught uncomfortably between his body and the wall, eliciting a yelp. He staggers back towards the centre of the room, limbs suddenly heavy with exhaustion. In between the mission, having had a profoundly unrestful night and having worried himself into a tizzy, sprawling face-down on his bed starts looking more and more like the most appealing option. Maybe if he takes a nap this will all turn out to be some strange dream when he wakes up again. It takes a bit of shifting around until he’s found a comfortable position on his side, one wing stretched backwards across the bed and the other curving over his other side. Poe closes his eyes, and pretends he doesn’t feel the warmth and comfort offered by the feathers curling around his skin.

-

He didn’t expect for the General to turn up at his door. Though really, he should’ve seen it coming because his squad plays dirty and they all know he can’t deny Leia anything.

“Open the door, Commander Dameron,” the General commands, voice tight in a way that signals both worry and the end of her patience. Poe takes a moment to hate himself for having made her worry in the first place because she’s got enough to worry about _dammit_ , then he slowly moves towards the door. He’s acutely aware of his rumpled, half-naked state, but there’s nothing he can do about that until he figures out how to get a shirt on without ruining it completely in the process.

The door slides open to Leia’s strong but tired face.

“Now _what_ is – ”

Leia stops short midsentence in what is possibly the first time in Poe’s life that he’s seen her struck speechless. The door closes behind her with a muted hiss that seems unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

“Force _gods_ , Poe.”

“Yeah,” he croaks, throat dry. His wings shiver slightly, drawing closer to his body as if to shelter him.

“This is new,” Leia says, eyes sweeping over the curve of the wings. He thinks he sees something uncomfortably close to amazement in her eyes, but it immediately disappears behind her professional exterior. “When?”

“Last night,” he mumbles, thoroughly miserable. “It just came out of nowhere, and I passed out. When I woke again they were just… there. I don’t think I can even sit in an _X-Wing_ like this.”

“I don’t think you need an X-Wing to fly anymore, Poe,” she murmurs.

He knows he must look wild-eyed, certainly _feels_ wild when he bursts out, “But I need to be able to fly! I’m useless if I can’t lead the squadrons and we need every pilot we have especially after Starkiller and –”

Leia raises her hand, stemming the tide of words falling out of Poe’s mouth. “Hold it right there, Poe. You’re _not_ and have never been useless.” Steel glitters in her eyes. “You must understand – you’ve already done so much for us. Far too much to ever be repaid. Without you we would never have fond out where Luke was and more than likely Starkiller base would’ve eradicated us all. And that’s not even counting all the battles you’ve won us before this latest peril.”

He shifts on his feet, wants to disagree but isn’t sure how. He settles on, “It’s not about repayment, Leia. You know that.”

She smiles, sad and proud all at once. “I do, and that makes it only all the more true.”

Leia regards him for a moment longer, then takes pity on him and changes the subject. “Do you have any idea why this is happening?” She waves her hand through the air.

Poe shakes his head. “I didn’t even know this was possible. They were always just a painting, you know?” He shrugs, uncomfortable. “My mother said that I was ‘blessed’, whatever that means, and that I would one day understand. She never explained beyond that. I certainly don’t know anyone else with…” He gestures to the massive wings helplessly.

“When did you first start feeling different?”

Poe thinks back, to moments he’d rather forget. “The Finalizer,” he says, “while escaping. When I first – ”

He stops short when he realises what he was about to say.

“When you first?” Leia prompts, not unkindly.

Poe scrunches up his face, heart sinking because this absolutely _stinks_ of complications. “When I first saw Finn,” he finishes quietly, then follows it up with a quiet, heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Leia’s eyes are sharp on his face, knowing. “Anything else?”

He closes his eyes because just _maybe_ all this will go away if he pretends the world doesn’t exist for long enough. “It got worse when I met Rey.”

 _When she touched him_ , he doesn’t say, but something in Leia’s expression tells him she probably heard it anyway.

Force, as if this wasn’t already complicated enough.

“I think you should probably talk to them about this,” Leia says after a moment. “It might shed some light.”

“Is that the Force or General Organa talking?” Poe asks, feeling old and tired.

She smirks at him, as warm as the first time he met her on Yavin 4 and stumbled all over himself because she was his _hero_. “Both.”

“Which means it’s probably entirely useless to try to argue?”

“Entirely,” she confirms.

He huffs, but a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips. It dies quickly at her next words.

“But first I’ll send Luke over. Maybe he’ll have some insight.”

Poe almost groans. The last thing he needs is another one of his personal heroes seeing him so off-balance. And without a shirt. Scratch that, the last thing he needs is _anyone_ else seeing him like this.

-

“Interesting,” is the first word that comes out of Luke’s mouth as he looks Poe over, and it’s all Poe can do not to glare at a living legend.

He crosses his arms across his still bare chest. “I _was_ hoping for a more in depth analysis, Commander Skywalker.”

Luke doesn’t take offense at his tone. Though his eyes are open and trained on Poe he looks like his mind is lightyears away. “Give me a moment,” Luke mutters absently. “And I’ve told you before to call me Luke.”

Poe obligingly stays quiet for several long minutes as Luke does… whatever it is he does.

“Is this a Force thing then?”

“Yes and no.”

Poe opens his mouth to complain about how completely useless that answer is, but Luke beats him to it.

“Yes, because the Force flows through your wings freely and I doubt they would be possible without it, though you aren’t manipulating the Force consciously,” he explains. “No, because you are, as far as I can tell, still only minimally Force-sensitive.” Luke smiles slightly, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Enough to be slightly more lucky as a pilot than others but no more than that, I think I told your mother when she asked me to test you.”

Poe knows that story, heard it the first time when sitting under his blue-green tree in the backyard. That tree, too, had been connected to Luke, though little Poe hadn’t known it at the time.

“So I’m not Force-sensitive, but my wings somehow are?” he hazards.

“They’re not _sentient_ ,” Luke says, frowning now. “But they are… imbued with the Force? That’s the best I can describe it.”

Poe takes a deep breath and tries not to read too much into this. “All right, so the wings are imbued with the Force. What does that mean in, you know, _practical terms_?”

Poe gets the feeling that Luke is somehow amused by this whole thing, which should be insulting but really isn’t. Force knows that man has had little to smile about for years. (Okay, so maybe running away to an island somewhere in the dregs of space didn’t help with that, but Poe is willing to be charitable now that the General has fully forgiven her brother for abandoning them.)

“I’m sorry, Poe, but I’m not certain. Even after so many years there’re still many things about the Force that elude my understanding.”

Poe doesn’t even try to pretend not to slump in defeat. Luke had sounded like his best hope at getting back to normal an hour ago, and to hear that he wouldn’t be able to help…

Luke’s soft voice rouses Poe from his burgeoning pity-party. “I knew a woman once, who had a painting on her back like you. She was a pilot, too. I asked her about it once, but she only said that she was waiting for her soulmate. Waiting for the day she would be able to fly with her own strength.”

“What happened to her?” Poe asks, curious despite himself, whilst valiantly attempting to ignore the word ‘soulmate’.

Luke sighs, runs a hand through his scraggly hair. “I don’t know. I don’t think she ever found her soulmate.”

There’s that word again. Poe takes a deep breath. “ _Soulmate_?”

“It’s a widespread concept in many cultures,” Luke says, which doesn’t help at all.

“I don’t particularly like the idea,” Poe admits, even as feathers curl around his shoulders. “That there’s this one person that’s supposed to complete you? Sounds too much like fate to me.”

Luke’s eyes are sharp. “Would you rather believe that fate had chosen you to be something special or for it to be entirely chance?”

“Neither of those options sounds very appealing,” Poe murmurs dryly. He’s seen too many heroes struggle through life in between their great deeds to want to join their ranks.

Luke’s face says he knows exactly what Poe’s thinking and is regretting his own presence in said ranks. “There’s no reason why you should let it dictate your life if you don’t wish it to,” he says gently. “Although, if I understand the stories correctly, you might not want to run from this particular happenstance.”

He rises. “I will meditate on your… dilemma. Perhaps the Force will have some answers.” Luke’s cheeks dimple when he smiles. “In the meantime, I do believe you have other visitors.”

-

Poe’s starting to feel like he’s in some kind of stand-off because there’s him with his new wings tucked close to his body on one side and Finn and Rey staring at him from just inside the door on the other, and they have yet to say a word. He’s pretty sure his current half-naked appearance isn’t helping. Poe’s never been particularly body-shy, but there’s a feeling of vulnerability attached to his lack of shirt right now – especially in light of half-formed dreams to one day be consensually half-naked with the two people in front of him. He certainly didn’t ever imagine it going like this.

“So,” Poe says when the silence becomes too much for him and he loses all control over his mouth. “Surprise.”

Maybe it’s the tightness in his voice, or maybe it’s the visible defensive shudder ruffling his feathers –something breaks their paralysis. Rey’s shock morphs into curious interest, her gaze now roaming more freely, and Finn – well, Finn looks like Poe felt when he first laid eyes on the Black One.

 “Poe,” Finn breathes, hands twitching at his sides as if he wants nothing more than to reach out, to _touch_. “They’re _beautiful_.”

Poe blushes. At the same time, the wings rustle as if _preening_ and puff out a little at the sides – which, yeah, would freak him out less if he’d done that consciously but okay. He really hopes he won’t have to train himself to suppress tells from _another_ set of limbs, he’s a bad enough liar as it is.

Finn’s arm jerks, as if he’s only just stopped himself from reaching out. Dark eyes search Poe’s face – he isn’t sure what they find there, but before he can tie himself into mental knots over it Finn asks, “Poe, may I _touch_ them?” and all thought flees his head with the speed of light. Suddenly Poe wants nothing more in the galaxy than for Finn to do exactly that, and a small part of him quails at the intensity, the _irrationality_ of the feeling.

“Yeah,” he croaks out nevertheless, because it seems impossible not to. Then he glances at Rey, making sure to include her too, and she smiles.

They step forward together, toward where Poe’s wings are fanning out in front of him, unconsciously curling in their direction already. Finn’s touch is first, a warmth spreading through his right wing, like the rare indulgence of real, hot water showers but so much more intense, and Poe shivers again. Then Rey’s hand is there on the other wing, stroking along the outer curve and he can barely think beyond the prickling warmth spreading throughout his body in pleasant waves.

“They’re soft,” Rey says, marvelling. “There were no birds with feathers like this on Jakku.”

“I’m not exactly a bird,” Poe points out, voice embarrassingly faint.

Rey looks up at him, dark lashes framing her eyes and there’s something almost unbearably frank about her gaze. “No, you’re not. But you feel like one when you’re in the air.”

Perhaps he does. How would he know, after all? The thought of flying brings reality crashing back into this bubble of warmth, and Poe takes a step back. He tries not to shiver when he immediately feels cold at the loss of contact.

Rey and Finn are watching him with near identical looks of worry, but when he opens his mouth to explain he can’t find the words.

Finn – as is quickly becoming his habit – rescues Poe by asking, “How did this happen? Luke only said we should come see you.”

“I’ve always had this… painting, I guess, on my back. A pair of wings like these,” Poe says after a moment. He doesn’t quite look at them, fixes his gaze on the door panel instead.

“How did no one notice this before?” Rey interrupts, sounding curious.

Poe shrugs uncomfortably. “People just assume it’s a tattoo and I don’t correct them. It’s easier that way.”

Finn frowns. “I can’t really see you as a tattoo kind of guy. Unless it said something like ‘I love Leia Organa’.”

Poe refuses to dignify that comment with an answer, but he does say, “To be fair, getting a pair of wings tattooed would’ve been exactly the kind of thing sixteen year old me would’ve done after getting my pilot license. Needless to say that I’m older and wiser now.”

Two twin impressions of unimpressed scepticism greet that statement. Stang. They’ve only known him for a few weeks and they’re already onto him.

“What then?” Finn asks, getting them back on track.

Poe shrugs, which turns out to be a far more expansive gesture than he’s used to. “A couple of weeks ago I started getting these weird tingly feelings down my back and then today I woke up with these.”

Rey is frowning now, clearly trying to puzzle through his haphazard explanation. “What does this have to do with us?”

Poe shifts on his feet, willing his wings to cease their nervous fluttering even as he raises his gaze to look at the two precious people in front of him. He owes them that much.

“It started when I met Finn,” he says plainly, his throat dry. “And it got worse when I met Rey. Luke – Luke thinks it’s because you’re my” – he hesitates, face scrunching up around the word he doesn’t particularly want to say – “soulmates.”

The word fades away into silence, and Finn’s eyes are wide, Rey’s face unnaturally calm.

“You mean _we_ did that?” Finn breathes, pointing at the wings.

Poe nods. “Indirectly, yes. Or so Luke thinks.”

“And what do you think?” Rey asks quietly. She’s still holding herself very still, but some of the unnatural calm is fading from her features.

“Honestly?” Poe shrugs, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “I don’t know. I don’t tend to believe in that kind of thing, but it feels _right_ somehow.” Then, because this sounds too close to the question he didn’t mean to ask, he hurries to add, “Of course that doesn’t mean you have any obligation to me, or even have to feel the same. That’s entirely up to you.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Finn breaking out into a huge smile, but most of his attention is focused on Rey, who’s still looking like she’s trying to dissect him with the power of her gaze alone. “What is it that you feel?”

Startles into honesty, Poe blurts out the first thing that comes into his mind. “You’re warmth. You’re both so warm and I want to hold onto you for as long as I can.”

His voice tapers off into a mumble, and then suddenly Rey is smiling too, wide and happy just like Finn. Poe’s heart starts beating faster entirely without his consent, relief hovering at the edges of his thoughts.

They crash into his arms at the same time, crowding in close for a hug. It isn’t their first group hug – Finn had decided early on that he likes touch, likes to ground himself in his surroundings and Rey, while more recalcitrant, had spent years and years alone and sometimes just needs the reassurance that there’s somebody else there, that she isn’t alone.

Yet somehow this one feels different, warmer. And not just because Poe’s wings are curling forward, all but obscuring Finn and Rey from view as if to protect them, a living shield to keep the world at bay.

Somewhat to Poe’s surprise, it’s Finn who draws back first to study Poe’s face, worry back in his eyes. “But you’re still really freaked, Poe, I can tell.”

For a moment Poe is tempted to snap that a half-blind Kowakian monkey lizard could tell that Poe isn’t dealing with this whole thing very well, but that would be as unkind as it would be unfair so he only sighs.

“Look at them, Finn,” he mumbles, waving his hand in the direction of his back. “They’re not exactly inconspicuous and they’re too big to fit in an X-Wing. I’m a _pilot_. What the hell am I supposed to do when I can’t fly?”

Rey is frowning, just a little. “You can control it, I think?” At Poe’s raised brow she adds, “I have this feeling.”

Which isn’t particularly helpful as things go, but he can’t imagine she would lie to him so he takes the comment as intended.

“I might have to teach you how to meditate,” she then says, which _is_ helpful, though not entirely welcome.

“I know how to meditate, I’m just not very good at it when I’m not up in the air.” Poe scratches at the back of his neck. “Too many thoughts running around in my head.”

Rey looks sympathetic for a moment, then claps her hands business-like and tugs him down to the floor.

“What, _now_?” Poe complains. Then he realises that if he wants to ever show his face outside his quarters again, it’s probably a good idea and bites his tongue on any further comments threatening to escape.

“This is probably going to be pretty boring,” Poe warns Finn, but Finn waves him off and gets comfortable on the bed, while Poe and Rey settle cross-legged on the floor.

They begin to breathe in sync, Rey’s quiet voice instructing Poe and he lets himself float away, imagines that he’s flying, calm and quiet in the endless silence of space. Rey is surprisingly good at this, he thinks, and then lets go of that thought too.

It takes hours, but eventually they figure out that it’s their touch, Finn’s and Rey’s, that cause the wings to emerge, though Rey assures him that with time and practice he will be able to call them forth on his own. Poe isn’t sure he’d want to, but nods along anyway. More importantly to him, under her guidance he’s managed to make them disappear, with a mixture of application of stubborn will and the greater understanding that Rey brings – a different visualisation of the problem that allows him to _feel_ the wings and call them back into his skin. He can’t really describe the feeling, but he’s happy enough not to as long as it works. Already he’s yearning to climb into the cockpit of the Black One to reassure himself that that is still something he can _do_.

With the wings having retreated back into his skin as if they never were, Poe is entirely tempted to just forget about the whole thing. Except that he can’t quite forget their weight on his back, the whispered promise of flying through the air outside a starfighter. Besides it would be terribly stupid to ignore a part of himself, even if it’s an inconvenient part – after all they might come back again at any moment. On the other hand, surely it won’t hurt if he waits for a few days, until he feels slightly more secure in his own skin again.

Right?

-

It’s Rey who drags him out into the forest a week later, pulling Poe along by his hand. He isn’t really surprised that she is the one to lose her patience with his stalling first.

“You need to practice,” she informs him once they’ve reached a little clearing a ways away from the base.

Poe crosses his arms over his chest, uneasiness prickling down the back of his neck. A part of him still fears that if he lets the wings come out once more, he won’t be able to banish them again.

Rey meets his gaze squarely, waiting. She doesn’t tap her foot or show any other outward sign of impatience, but he can tell that she doesn’t really understand his hesitance. _Hells_ , Poe doesn’t even understand his own reluctance. Flying is all he’s ever dreamed of (before these two idiot precious whirlwinds came into his life anyway) and now that he has the chance to do it without a ship he’s afraid?

No, he can’t let that stand.

Rey’s gaze warms around the hint of a smile as he squares his shoulders.

“All right,” he says. “You might have to help me with the first step though.”

She nods, and without any of the hesitation that would’ve been there a few weeks ago, steps forward and lays her hand on Poe’s shoulder. The touch is hardly more than a light pressure against his skin, but it’s all Poe needs to feel energy start to sizzle up and down his back, building up, building outwards, and then he lets go.

The wings burst forth from his skin without a hint of the pain that had rendered him insensible the first time, and he struggles to keep his balance as they grow larger and larger, buffeting the air around him.

To say that, at first, it doesn’t go so well might be an understatement. It takes Poe about five tries to even leave the ground at all, and the first time he reaches more than a meter of height he keeps thinking he’ll fall, which makes him flail his arms and that turns out to be the entirely wrong thing to do. Only Rey’s judicious application of the Force saves him from a rather ignoble face-plant in the dirt. It’s a strange feeling, being floated to the ground so gently by an invisible power. If it had felt anything other than warm and soothing, had held even a hint of Kylo Ren’s coldness, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from panicking, but it seems that even his subconscious can tell the difference between Rey and Ren.

“You’ve been practicing,” he comments from where he’s now sprawled on the ground, because only a few days ago Rey had made a terrible mess of his rooms when she’d lost control while levitating a bunch of blankets and pillows.

“And so should _you_ be,” Rey says, mercilessly dragging him up again as she ignores Poe’s grumble about ‘slave-driving Jedi’.

He tries again, pushes off the forest ground with all his might, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to fall again, his wings beating madly. Then he’s rising through the trees, air rushing past and under him, and he’s flying. He’s _flying_. It is the most incredible feeling in the world – but then he’d already known that. He laughs wildly, face turned towards the sun, and his wings now beat steadily – there’s no more flailing around ungracefully as he swoops above the treetops. This is a skill he doesn’t have to learn, he’s been born to fly like this and instinct is all he needs.

It’s complete and utter freedom.

When he comes down again, landing softly on the wet earth, Finn is there too, beaming even wider than Rey. Already the rush of the sheer weightlessness he experienced in the air is fading, but something steadier of equal power takes its place as he gazes at them.

They fall into each other’s arms with the ease of those who’d always been meant to.

-

The next day Poe goes to get permission from the General to take the Black One up for an unscheduled test flight.

Leia eyes him dubiously. “Is that a good idea, Poe?”

He barely resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in vexation because she’s the fifth person who’s asked him this today and it’s getting _old_. “I need to know what to expect if the wings appear while I’m in an X-Wing. Respectfully, sir, unless you want to ground me forever this needs to happen.”

They both know that the Resistance needs him too badly – and that she’s far too fond of him – to ground Poe unless absolutely necessary, even for a short while.

She sighs, nods. “Don’t fuck it up, Dameron.”

Having wrangled official permission, Poe then spends the next half hour arguing with Rey about whether she should or shouldn’t take up the Falcon to keep an eye on him. The discussion ends with him throwing his hands in the air and stomping off to get ready, thoroughly defeated because Rey and Finn ganged up on him shamelessly. They’d broken out the ‘ _we just want you to be as safe as possible’_ line, and he’d been helpless to resist their pleading gazes, despite his grumblings that he’s thirty-two years old, a Commander in his own right, and knows what he’s bloody well doing, dammit. They probably took lessons from his squad in how to be unbearably overprotective of Poe Dameron.

It doesn’t help that he’s yet to have had a go at flying the Falcon and seeing her scream into the sky guided by Rey’s expert hands is doing all kinds of things to his stomach, none of which he should be focusing on right now.

His own Black One is beautifully responsive under his fingertips as usual. Even though it has only been a few days since he has last sat in the cockpit, he already missed it and he can feel himself gradually relax properly as he leans back in his seat. If flying under his own power is unfettered freedom, this is the safety of a familiar home.

For the first half hour Poe runs through a few manoeuvres in between idly swooping through the atmosphere, testing his reflexes and the ship’s responsiveness to the accompaniment of BB-8’s happy beeps.

At minute 35 the comm crackles to life.

“Having fun there, flyboy?” Finn asks, and Poe can hear the grin in his voice.

In answer, Poe executes a double barrel roll that brings him almost nose to nose with the Falcon for a moment, flicking out a wing in passing. Finn’s laughter rings pleasantly in his ears.

“Let us know when you’re down frolicking,” Rey pipes up and as judgmental as the words seem, there’s nothing but shared enthusiasm in her voice. It’s not a surprise, considering Rey is about as gone over flying as Poe is. Finn’s the one who’s more ambivalent.

Nevertheless, her comment reminds him of the original purpose of this exercise, so he sighs and says, “I’m ready now, Rey. Stand by for operation ‘let’s try to fit the entirety of my new wings in my cockpit in flight without me crashing this starfighter’.”

Finn’s huff translates through the comm loud and clear. “You better be taking care of that second part especially, Poe.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, I’ve got this under control,” Poe says, even as he levels out his X-Wing into a clear flight path straight ahead. “Besides, I’ve got BB-8 to look after me.”

Even for Finn, who still doesn’t understand binary, BB-8’s answering trill probably carries a clear flavour of ‘damn right’.

Poe takes a deep breath, centring his focus on his shoulder blades and _tugs_. The seconds that immediately follow that action are somewhat discombobulating, not least because he suddenly finds himself with a face full of feathers even as his body is pushed forward to make room for even more wing behind him. Once he can breathe again, Poe takes stock: hands still on the controls, check. Maintained the original flight path, check. Wings fit in the cockpit, check.  Technically. Because there’s also: very uncomfortable, check and flying blind, check, as there’s a whole load of feathers obscuring his view out of the cockpit.

He slowly becomes aware of BB-8’s beeping and Finn and Rey’s raised voices through the comm.

“Good news,” he croaks, “I haven’t crashed. Bad news, I can’t see much beyond feathers. I’d probably be somewhat useless in combat.”

[BB-8 will be Partner-Poe’s eyes] his droid offers immediately, which he won’t even deny is ridiculously heart-warming.

Well, at least he can honestly tell General Leia that he doesn’t think he’d be hazard for the rest of his squad, even if he would be unlikely to survive long if this happened in the middle of a space battle. At least he can practice withdrawing the wings quickly.

Closing his eyes, Poe lets out a long breath and wills the wings to disappear into his back once more. The cockpit almost feels empty without them.

-

“You know, you could have someone more normal,” Poe says two nights later, sprawled on his bed between Finn and Rey.

“Don’t be silly,” Rey mumbles into his hair. She sounds like she’s already half asleep and wondering why Poe _isn’t_.

“Don’t want anybody else,” Finn agrees, equally sleepy.

Rey yawns. “Unless you keep talking, in which case I _will_ kick you out. Luke has scheduled another early morning meditation session.”

Poe twists a little under the blankets to pat her shoulder in sympathy.

“Just don’t wake me up again when you leave,” Finn grumbles, pulling the blanket up to his nose. “I want to sleep in.”

Rey makes an offended noise. “It’s not _my_ fault you decided to sleep half on top of me. How was I supposed to not wake you?”

Poe can see Finn opening his mouth to snipe back and decides to bite the argument in the ass before it keeps them all up beyond their bedtime. “I thought you wanted to go to sleep?” he reminds them gently.

“I did,” Rey huffs, “but then you decided to have _feelings_. For someone so cocky in the air you really lack in confidence on the ground.”

Which, all right, harsh but fair.

“Will you go to sleep if I say I’m done having feelings?” he tries because strangely enough he _is_ reassured. They’re not the most effusive of people, are Rey and Finn, but they have their own brand of straightforward comfort.

“Hmm,” says Finn, which seems to settle the matter.

Poe drifts off with a smile on his face.

 

+1

Finn doesn’t even hear the entirety of the comment that starts it all, just something about General Organa and failings. He probably wouldn’t have paid it any heed if Poe hadn’t stopped mid-stride, ice-cold fury written all over his face. Poe’s shoulders shift in a way that Finn’s learned to recognise and he jumps aside just in time to avoid a face full of feathers.

While Poe isn’t a man of great height, the picture he makes with his majestic wings extended to their full span on either side of him is imposing in a way that Finn has never associated with sweet, kind Poe Dameron before and it literally takes his breath away. Next to him Rey whistles under her breath very, very quietly.

The entire mess hall is staring at Poe, at the gleaming wings raised towards the ceiling. Yet Finn is certain that he, and maybe Rey, are the only ones who catch the small moment of near-painful uncertainty, _vulnerability_ , passing over Poe’s face before he raises his chin defiantly, his eyes glittering with anger as he surveys the crowd.

“You have no right,” Poe murmurs, voice deadly quiet around suddenly clipped consonants. “No _right_ to say this. We’ve all lost loved ones to the First Order and if you would deny the General her grief you’re no better than them. Make no mistake – Leia Organa is the reason we’re still here, still fighting for what’s right.”

The hall is quiet enough one could hear a pin drop, a breath held before the exhale.

“ _As you were_ ,” Poe bites out, and Finn isn’t surprised at all when people obey, slowly turning back to their meals. Chatter begins to fill the air once more. Finn is almost certain that there’re at least two people here who technically outrank Poe, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

Poe stays like that for a moment longer, wings spread wide, then he sighs and the wings disappear in the blink of an eye. An _absence_ remains, where they filled the room, and Finn can’t help but notice that a lot of people’s eyes keep being drawn to that empty space before they look away again, almost ashamed.

Poe turns to them then, high flecks of colour on his cheeks, and runs a hand through his curls in what Finn has learned is his ‘I’m embarrassed’ gesture.

“You ruined another shirt,” Rey says after a moment.

Finn watches Poe sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose, and transform back into the quieter, good-natured and kind man that he knows. Finn can’t even pretend that he isn’t ridiculously charmed.

“It died for a good cause.”

Yeah, Finn can’t argue with that, and apparently neither can Rey, for she’s already making a beeline for the serving line. On second thought, that might not be a reflection on her willingness to contribute to the conversation – even after months on the base, Rey still eats like someone starved, and woe to anyone who gets in between her and her food.

One of the pilots is the first to approach Poe.

“You realise that this is the single most dramatic way you could’ve spilled your secret to the entire base, right?” Jess asks, expression somewhere between impressed and long-suffering.

Poe shrugs, the hint of a blush colouring the nape of his neck. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, Pava.”

She grins and claps him on the back. “You certainly did that. I can’t wait to tell Snap that he missed this little display.”

Seeing Rey on her way back with a tray piled high with food, Finn nudges Poe to get a move on. He might not be a Rey, but he still needs his sustenance.

“I see how it is,” Poe says, comically long-suffering. “Food always takes priority.”

“Don’t even try to compete,” Finn advises him cheerfully and loads his plate with mashed tubers.

Poe laughs at that, and Finn is gratified to see some of the tension leaving his frame.

“Besides,” Finn whispers, mouth close to Poe’s ear, “you’ve already given me wanking material for the next few years with that little display.”

Poe’s face goes about as red as his flight-suit, and he sounds adorably scandalised for someone who isn’t exactly innocent in these matters when he hisses, “Finn!”

Finn only grins at him, smug, and ignores Rey’s questioning gaze at their respective expressions in favour of tucking into his lunch. It’s easy enough to forget about the whispers that still go through the hall when sandwiched between the two people he adores most in the universe. Poe will be fine. He and Rey will make certain of that. It doesn’t matter to him whether they call it soulmates or lovers or anything in between – Finn doesn’t need words to define what they are, not when his heart does it for him.

 


End file.
